Punisher: Espressino
by JasonNoir
Summary: A mob underling plots to kill his boss at the request of the boss' wife, but things get messy when the Punisher shows up with the same idea. Rated MA for graphic language and depictions of sex and violence.
1. Chapter 1

The name of the boat was _Palco Carina_. It was a gift from the underboss to Alfredo and Penelope Riva on their wedding day. In four years Alfredo set foot on the thing maybe three times. Said he hated the fuckin' water. Didn't swim. But Penelope, she loved it. It suited her. Powerful. Flawless. She and the boat both. Alfredo had always been into model broads. Blondes. Why those same broads kept flocking to him was beyond me. Money and a name went a long fuckin' way I figured.

Penelope started coming on to me months ago. Putting ideas in my head, then putting my dick in her mouth. She said I shouldn't let Alfredo treat me like a farm animal. What did she expect? I could hardly be considered a soldier for the Riva family. Then she started saying things that did make sense. How we could be together all the time. How she could help me climb the ranks if Alfredo was gone. How he was losing his balls, and the other capos knew it. She said the money would keep coming in only if the Rivas went to war with the Colombians. The Punisher too if need be. Penelope wasn't Italian, but she damn sure had our ambition.

She sat on the bow of the _Palco Carina_ like a mermaid. Long legs hiding under a white sundress. We were heading to the marina for a meeting with her agent. The sun cooked me. Danny Fierro drove the boat like a monkey, but he didn't know any better. Penelope finished her scotch and amaretto, then tossed the glass into the water. I couldn't figure why she did that. The next thing to go was her sand-colored floppy hat. I watched her hair get ravished by the wind.

She told Danny to stop the boat. The monkey listened. Then she told him to go away for ten minutes and he did, disappearing into the boat's interior. I stood there on the deck, alone with a goddess.

"Come here," she said to me.

Making my way to the bow, I started to get woozy. It might've been the water, or the fact that I was falling in love with her. Maybe it was the promise I made that Alfredo Riva would be in Hell by week's end. She sat there and watched me come closer. We both knew what would happen if I didn't make good on my promise. If I fucked up. I spotted a melting fragment of ice in her mouth. She bit and sucked on it. There were just inches between us. If her husband lived to attend Sunday mass, or if his murder could be traced back to her in any way, I was fuckin' fucked.

She pulled up her dress, placed her hands on her inner thighs and pushed them open. I glanced at her wedding ring.

"Hurry," she commanded.

I tried to breathe. Only once before had she allowed me to fuck her. She guided my hands to her panties, and I pulled them off as fast as I could. Then we worked on my belt. My pants hit the deck so quick you'd think they were being shot at. She grabbed my mouth. Muffled my rapid breathing.

"Remember what you promised."

"Yes." It was all I could manage.

She scanned my eyes for deceit, then nodded. Her legs locked around my waist and I eased into her. She didn't make a sound. I kissed her neck, knowing I wouldn't last long. I blamed it on the smell of her hair. Sweet acidic citrus. I blamed it on the thought of exploding inside of her. I wanted to so badly. If this week didn't go according to the script, she was gonna have me whacked. My body shook as I emptied myself. I nearly sent us off the boat. I buried my nose in her hair, inhaling the citrus. She put a hand over my face and pushed me off of her.

"Pull up your pants."

She reached down to pick up her panties. Her fingers pinched at the lace. She held them over the side of the boat and let them go. She called out to Danny Fierro, telling him his break was over. Then she went off to clean herself.

I stood there on the deck like the farm animal that I was. Sweating under the sun. Alfredo Riva was gonna die.


	2. Chapter 2

My little cousin was always a bright kid. Told me how someone could go into cardiac arrest after ingesting chemical preservatives. The kinda stuff easily found in a medical school laboratory. Lucky enough for me, his girlfriend was attending medical school. He got me exactly what I needed, told me how much to use. He told me how a cup of coffee with some milk and a bit of flavor would mask the taste. It made me wonder. What did death taste like?

Alfredo had been spending the last few days in a remote vacation house. Hiding. The heat from rival Colombians and the police was making him uncomfortable, and it was only a matter of time until the Punisher started to fuck things up for all of us. Most of the other capos didn't give six shits about Alfredo, so they allowed just two of his soldiers to play Secret Service. One was Danny Fierro, and the other was me. I was sure that Penelope somehow had arranged this.

We developed a daily routine. Fierro kept watch at the house, and I drove to the local café for Alfredo's croissants and coffee. Espressino. If only the community college bitch that worked mornings could get it right. She was mixed with something. Filipino, fuckin' Chinese, I couldn't tell. Black hair tucked under a cap, a ponytail poking out the back. I hated broads with attitude. Spend your five AMs tits deep in coffee beans and fuckin' half n' half and you had no one to blame but yourself. But her café was the only game in town, or at least the closest.

The poison filled up two vials in my inside coat pocket. They rested above a baby Glock I carried in a shoulder holster. I was nervous. This was gonna be Alfredo's last cup of coffee. I walked in the place surprised I wasn't shaking.

The bitch was her usual self. She was small. Barely cleared the register. It was just me and her in the place. I ordered what I always did, expecting her to purse her lips. Roll her eyes. Then she went and did it. She sighed. Like I was an inconvenience to her. Like I was ruining her day. She sighed at me and typed the order in with her fragile hands. That was it. I was gonna show her how a day really gets ruined. Was my last visit anyway.

I opened my coat, revealing the Glock. You should've seen the fuckin' look on her face. She kinda froze. Just stood there. I knew I had her attention.

"You know what this is. Yeah you do, you half-breed bitch."

I pulled it out to give her a better look, and she tried her hardest not to cry.

"This is an attitude adjuster. It's really something."

She started to stutter. Her voice was so small.

"Keep your mouth shut!"

With that she closed her eyes, unable to see how much I was enjoying myself.

"Look at me," I said. She did. I leaned in just a pinch. "If you sigh at me ever again, I'm going to take you in that back room and blow your brains out while my dick's in your ass."

I looked at her name tag. Kelsey. "Turn around and make my coffee, Kelsey."

Watching her get to work couldn't have been more satisfying. Her arms, her legs. Everything shook. I gave her a friendly reminder. "Last time it wasn't warm enough. I'd like a hot drink today." Scared to death, she nodded. For the next few minutes, I heard nothing resembling a sigh.

When the espressino was ready, I left. I told her that if she called the cops she was going to die.

I pulled over down the road, and drank some of the espressino. Doing so made room for the poison, and made sure the flavor was strong enough to conceal it. The liquid burned my mouth a little. It tasted nothing like death. It was delicious.


	3. Chapter 3

Patience. It was integral to a sniper's mission. The Punisher waited on the hill, behind the cover of trees. He waited with the calm of a Zen master. It had taken years to ease the immense pain and embrace the calm. To ignore the loss, if only for a time, of his beautiful son and daughter. To push away the horror of Maria's frozen, dead eyes, her once loving essence deposited into a black body bag. It took years to overcome the waves of grief and the flood of madness, and to replace them with a serene focus that was needed to complete his mission. To fight his war. To exact revenge.

Locating Alfredo Riva had been the hardest part. It involved tracking down the right mobsters, ones with connections to the Riva family, and persuading them to talk. Monitoring Alfredo's activities at the vacation house was easy by comparison. There was hardly any traffic in or out of the place, with the exception of two whores who visited him most nights. Aside from a network of surveillance cameras, security was light. There were at most two goons watching the place, and one of them left to run errands for about half an hour every morning. He wasn't due back for another twenty minutes.

The balcony outside of Alfredo's bedroom overlooked a quiet lake. He frequently made use of it, sometimes with the whores but more importantly for his morning phone calls. Presumably he was staying plugged into the family business. Moving New York chess pieces from long distance. That couldn't be allowed to continue.

In the grand scheme of things Alfredo was small fish, marginally respected and losing ground to the Colombians. That didn't matter. As far as the Punisher was concerned, once all pawns had been removed from the board, no one would be left to protect the king.

From the scope of his M40 The Punisher watched the sliding glass door that led out to the balcony. The M40 was a product of Vietnam, and still fit for military service. It was a suitable instrument for removing pawns from the board.

The door slid open and Alfredo Riva stepped onto his balcony for the last time. In a bathrobe, looking like hell. Trashed from a night of sex, booze and cocaine, with stubble and contempt for the sun's brightness on his face. The Punisher worked the rifle's bolt-action and put crosshairs to Alfredo's chest.

The mobster leaned against the railing, punching numbers on his cell phone and coughing out last night's sins. His phone call would be allowed to go through, so that the scumbag on the other line would hear the shots. So they would know that no one could run far enough, and that the war would go on. Alfredo grimaced at the voice on the other line, sick of being pushed around. Looking as if he wanted to be shot. It was his lucky day.

The rifle round struck him near the heart, and he collapsed out of time with the terse boom that punched through the air. His phone ended up somewhere in the lake. The Punisher again worked the bolt-action, ejecting his spent cartridge and readying the weapon for a second shot. He lined up on Alfredo's robed figure, lying sideways on the balcony. Not moving.

_Boom!_

He sent another round into the mobster's upper torso.

_Boom!_

Once more. Had to be thorough. The robe changed colors, and the chessboard got a little less cluttered.


	4. Chapter 4

I parked my car up the street from the vacation house. Stirred the poison into his drink compulsively. The coffee was getting cold. Oh well. What was he gonna do about it other than die? Still, I had to get back. It might look suspicious if I showed up too late. I pulled out the wooden stirring stick. It dripped death. I put the lid on and looked at myself in the rearview mirror. _Breathe, you fuck_. I blinked at my reflection. Still looked like a nobody.

The driveway was right there where I left it. Ha. I carried the coffee and croissants in a flimsy to-go tray, fumbling with keys. After turning the doorknob with the right one I put my shoulder into the heavy wood and nearly collapsed into the entryway.

_Slow down_. I knew if I spilled his fuckin' drink I was gonna have a stroke. I could hear the game on TV. Danny the monkey had it up much louder than usual. What a buncha racket. I was too jumpy to deal with it, and so I headed upstairs to Alfredo's room. I felt like a cartoon with my accordion legs. The TV downstairs was givin' me a headache. Fuckin' Fierro the monkey. Was he trying to go deaf? Then I started to have a weird thought, like something didn't feel right.

My hands were turning to hot jelly and so I placed the to-go tray on the box newel at the top of the stairs. The doors to Alfredo's room were wide open. It wasn't usually like that. For some reason I kept thinking that I didn't want to go into his room.

"Special delivery, Mr. Riva."

_Special delivery_? What the fuck was wrong with me? I was nervous as shit, that's what.

"Mr. Riva? I'm back, sir."

I never called him sir before. Upon realizing this, I decided that it would be best for me to just shut the fuck up. I stood outside of his room for what felt like five minutes. Until the stress became too much. I walked inside.

The sight of blood always had a way with me. From the bedroom I got a clear enough view of the balcony to see that somebody had taken it upon themselves to whack Mr. Alfredo Riva. They hadn't been subtle either. He was dead as Dillinger. I was too terrified to feel relieved.

I pulled at the Glock in my shoulder holster, clumsy enough to let it fall to the floor without much protest. I dove. Knees hitting the carpet, hands scrambling to pick up my gun. From behind Alfredo's bed came Danny. I was frozen stiff. He crawled towards me, covered in his own gore. He tried to say something, but all that came out were gasping noises and blood. Blood. It bubbled up and expanded in his mouth.

I could've tried to help him. Or put him out of his misery. I could've tried to run away. But all I could manage was to cough and then choke and then vomit all over myself. Danny reached out to me with his hand, and as I continued to vomit I sort of swatted it away. Not to disgrace the man in his last moments so much as to keep him from getting puked on. That's how I rationalized it anyway.

Like nothing an arm wrapped around my neck and I immediately knew that it belonged to the Punisher. He put me in some kind of chokehold. I was facedown. A lot of pressure on my back. Felt like a statue had fallen on me. I was lightheaded to begin with. Didn't take long for the lights to go out.

**—**

A potato sack or something covered my head when I woke up. My hands and feet were tied and I couldn't see shit. I could tell I was in the back of a vehicle, but that was about all. It was a bumpy ride. I sort of slid around. I thought about my situation. The fuckin' Punisher. This was gonna be a long day.

I was nobody. A terrible mobster. Didn't even get to kill anyone.

**—**

Penelope Riva's high heels struck the floor of the vacation house entryway with a coolly paced purpose. She trotted to the source of the noise downstairs. A television set. A loud as fuck television set that was too big and too loud for anyone's own good. She pressed the mute button, and took in the chilling silence that now filled the house. She took a moment to admire the silent, impressive figures of the athletic men on the screen. Their bodies clashed and were riddled with moisture. She walked upstairs.

She jumped at the scene in Alfredo's room, but stopped herself from gasping.

_Well, he certainly fucked this up_.

Danny Fierro was dead on his belly, looking sad. He should've been, having just ruined a perfectly good carpet. But it was the balcony that called to her. She stepped out of her heels, taking care not to make contact with any of the blood on the floor. Her feet flirted with the soft fibers of the carpet and she stepped onto the balcony. And there he was.

"Oh Alfredo. You're such a mess."

She decided it was a little too callous to smile. She instead looked down on her husband's corpse and took a few seconds to reflect. _Okay, that's good enough_. She needed to leave. Coming to the vacation house had not been wise, but she'd convinced herself that doing so would provide some closure. After all, she was a widow now.

"Well, goodbye."

She turned to leave, but stopped herself. She observed him again, the robe she'd bought him was tattered and soaked.

_Only a psychopath or complete fucking idiot could've been this sloppy about things_.

She wasn't angry though. Penelope Riva didn't get angry. She'd trusted him not to be such a catastrophic faggot, but in the end that's exactly what he was. Failure. She'd have him killed as well, wherever he was.

She looked at Alfredo in his robe and morbid curiosity got the best of her. With a foot she lifted up the part of it covering his waist and looked at his cock for the last time. She knelt down next to him and took hold of it. Then Penelope realized that she really needed to go, so she went back inside.

After slipping back into her heels, she made her way to the stairs. Perched on top of a box newel was a to-go tray that harbored a bag of croissants and a cup of coffee. She thought, smirked, and picked up the tray. On her way down she worked the coffee cup free and placed the lid to her lips. She tilted her head back. The taste of espresso, milk and cocoa entered her mouth. She swallowed. For a moment Penelope thought she tasted something else, something peculiar. She sipped the drink again, realizing that she was probably wrong.

She stopped for a moment, an emotional amoeba. Then she laughed. It had been a long time since she had laughed, and it felt good. She continued down the stairs, and her legs started to wobble ever so slightly.

**THE END**


End file.
